


one life

by silpium



Category: bare: A Pop Opera - Hartmere/Intrabartolo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, Recovery, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 13:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14569995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silpium/pseuds/silpium
Summary: It's slow, at first, but steady, the way a faucet drips, like the way it gradually fills up the sink beneath it, gradual to the point that it's imperceptible. Maybe it takes minutes, or hours, or days, but, eventually, it happens.Jason wakes up.Or, Jason survives his suicide attempt and learns how to live.





	one life

**Author's Note:**

> and, well, now for something completely different! sorry to everyone who's subscribed to me for haikyuu content—i had a huge writing slump, but bare helped me get back into it, and i'm working on some haikyuu fics, too! ;v; thank you for your patience!
> 
> a couple things: sorry if the censoring of "g-d" hurts immersion! i'm jewish and one of the laws is to censor g-d's name, so, ah. yeah. and i'm sorry if jason seems ooc—my suicide attempt changed me radically, so i felt like his would change him similarly, too, but i tried to keep it reined in!
> 
> cws: suicide attempt/recovery, themes of mental illness, implied parental abuse, one-scene focus on teenage pregnancy.

It's slow, at first, but steady, the way a faucet drips, like the way it gradually fills up the sink beneath it, gradual to the point that it's imperceptible. Maybe it takes minutes, or hours, or days, but, eventually, it happens.

Jason wakes up.

He can feel _everything_ , not just the assorted, disjointed sensations from when he was still asleep, like a light switch being flicked on: the sheets brushing ever-so-gently against his skin, the chill of the wind breezing in from outside, the piercingly bright lights pouring down on him, the roughness in his throat, the itch of the needles in his arms, the—

And through all the clashing, sickening feelings, he _remembers_ , remembers one event that erases every other little thing around him as though it was all nothing more than dust. He's flooded with sensations—nausea, putrid nausea wrenching his stomach, tremors running through his hands and legs like earthquakes, a fire burning him up from the inside out—and, _fuck_ , Peter's arms around him, his desperate voice ringing in Jason's ears, more broken than Jason had ever heard him before.

He's supposed to be _dead_. And like one can't look away from a car crash, the thought floats around in his head, unavoidable, inescapable. He's supposed to be _dead_ , because it was the only way he had to solve the mess he found himself in, the only surefire way, and even _that_ didn't work—

So, what, then? What does he even _have_ anymore?

He stares up at the ceiling, so white that he feels like it should show his reflection, and listens to the way everything outside continues on without him.

/ * \

"We weren't sure you were going to wake up," the nurse tells him, later, when she's replacing his IV fluid. "It took us dangerously long to get to you after you... you know."

Jason has to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying he wishes he didn't.

/ * \

The hospital sends a therapist up to his room the day after he wakes up, because of course they do. She's pretty in the way that makes it obvious she's kind-hearted, old but obviously not a pushover; Jason loves and hates her immediately.

She sits down in one of the visitor's chairs, an old plastic thing that creaks with age, and introduces herself to him. "Have they told you much about what's happened since your attempt, Jason?"

His voice is still scratchy and hoarse from disuse when he speaks. "Three weeks in a coma. That's about it."

She nods, purses her lips. "Well, I suppose it falls on me to tell you this, then. You deserve to know your situation as it stands. Let me preface this with that you have done nothing to deserve this—you and your parents just have a difference of values, is all, and come from different places. Jason—"

"They disowned me, didn't they." 

She looks surprised for a moment before she composes herself. "You're not surprised, then?"

"No," Jason says, staring at the second hand on the clock, watching it tick by slowly. "I always knew they would if it came out. It's just another fucking thing to add to this whole mess—"

"Jason," she interrupts him softly, and the compassion in her eyes almost unravels him. It's not pity, but genuine empathy, more honest and true than anything most anyone's ever given him. "What exactly is this 'whole mess'? Tell me how you see it all. Don't leave anything out."

He does, and it takes everything from his heart, wrenches it right out of him and leaves a cavity there in his chest. And she listens, just listens, and somehow, it's the most anyone could do.

"Jason, are you glad you survived?"

"It would have been easier if I didn't. But suicide obviously didn't work, so now I have to figure all of this out when there's no answer anywhere—"

"There's always an answer. There's always a way. It's just a matter of finding it," the therapist tells him, gently. "Jason, this may be our first session, but in you I see a boy full of courage and talent. I see someone given blessing after blessing, someone who could hold the world in his hands if he wanted to. Frost does not mean winter, Jason. Remember that. You're okay. You will be okay."

/ * \

It's after physical therapy one day, right when Jason is about to fall asleep from the numbing exhaustion, that someone walks in. He assumes it's a nurse, no big deal, and keeps his eyes closed, but then the person says "Jason?" in the most soft, tentative of voices, and, suddenly, Jason is wide awake.

He sits up in bed. Before him is Nadia, alone, eyes welling up with tears. Jason blinks once, twice, clears his throat, and then Nadia is _hugging_ him, hiccuping a little as tears run down her face. "I never—I never gave up hope that you'd wake up, you know, but I'm just—I'm so happy you didn't—"

For a second, just a second, Jason is happy he didn't die, too.

She lets go of him, clasps her hands together, smiles at him like she's never seen anything that's made her happier. "I'm glad... we're getting a chance to talk again. I hope you know that you haven't changed at all in my eyes. And whatever that priest said to you—it's bullshit, I hope you know that. What Mom and Dad did, too—you know what they did, right?"

"Yeah," Jason tells her, watching the way her expression soured towards the end of her sentence. "Not like it was unexpected."

"Doesn't make it any less bullshit, Jason. If they're so dedicated to their religion that they'd disown their son over it, how come they haven't realized that G-d made you just like he did everyone else? G-d doesn't make mistakes, does he? It's stupid as hell!"

Jason looks down, bites his lip. "Thank you, Nadia."

"You don't need to thank me for being the only voice of reason in this family. Ugh. I had to eavesdrop on their conversations to find out you were even awake, Jason. They weren't even planning to tell me. But—enough of that. How are you holding up? You're looking a lot better than I thought you would."

 

"I'm getting by," he sighs. "I'm still... processing everything, you know. It's only been a few days since I woke up. But, Nadia, tell me, does he—does he know?"

"I texted him as soon as I knew. Has he not come by?" Jason is silent, and she bites her lip. "Well, Jason, you know he loves you. You know he loves you more than anything else. He'll be here when he's ready, I promise."

"I hope so," Jason says, quietly.

/ * \

“Moving on from something like this can be—will be very difficult,” Jason’s therapist tells him. It’s cloudy out, the sky a deep blue-black with grey-black clouds to match, and Jason wonders if it’ll rain or pour. “And you have to remember that recovery isn’t linear. There will be times when you think about trying again, when you feel so pressured that it feels like suicide is the only way out. But you have to remember that those feelings, too, will pass, that you've made it through such things before. The catharsis you’re feeling right now, for example, is just as genuine and real as any suffering you’ll experience when you relapse. You just have to remember that and hold onto the knowledge that things get better, that life is an ebb and flow of good and bad. You have just this one life, Jason, and learning to recognize it for what it is is important.”

“I just don't know how to… move on. I don’t know what G-d wants from me.”

“Well, I think that G-d wants you to listen to yourself. Jason, G-d will be happy with whatever you choose, so long as you’re true to _yourself_ , not the rest of the world. G-d made every part of you, even the parts you hate and doubt and push so far down you don’t even recognize them.” She lets a smile slip onto her face, and something about it is comforting, like a mother’s should have been. “G-d loves you, Jason. Everything about you and everything you do.”

And maybe it doesn’t heal the years upon years of denial and hatred, the ever-floating voice in his head telling him _no, you know in your heart the teaching is clear_ , the knowledge of what his parents and the church undoubtedly think of him—but, still, something shifts in him, like little, flickering embers in an always pitch-black room. Barely even tangible, barely even relevant, but still _there_.

/ * \

Jason can't really tell how long he's been in the hospital. The seconds drag on and on. Time starts to blur, and Ivy starts to visit him. She’s quiet. There’s a strange, dignified maturity to it that’s so different from the Ivy that Jason knew that Jason almost recoils at it when she walks in and sits down without a word. There’s a ruminating, frosty anger lingering under the surface of her demeanor, and Jason—

“I don’t want to hear your apologies,” Ivy interrupts him as he opens his mouth. “We both hold the blame. I just wanted to check up on you, because I know I… was part of all of this.”

“I’m getting by,” Jason offers. “Learning how to be alive again, I guess.”

“Well, that’s good,” she says, and Jason can tell it’s genuine, strangely enough. There’s the faint air of happiness to her voice as she says it, despite everything. “I’m glad you survived, you know. I still love you, through all of this. I know you don’t—can’t reciprocate, but I’m just… I’m glad.”

“I’m—”

“I said I don’t want your apologies, Jason. They don’t change anything.”

“I know,” Jason mumbles, heaves a sigh. “But know I care for you, too. Through all of this.”

Ivy smiles, a tiny, little one that’s barely even perceptible, before she wipes it off her face. “Before you ask, I haven’t decided yet. About what to do about our kid, I mean,” and, suddenly, it all feels so much more real than it already was. Their _child_. A living, breathing being, all of their own. Jason can’t help but break eye contact, bite the inside of his cheek _hard_ , enough so that he’s surprised he doesn’t taste blood.

“…It’s your choice,” Jason says, eventually, “But I don’t think I’m in any place to…”

“Yeah, I know. Neither am I. But at the same time, y’know, everyone else is expecting us to…” Ivy trails off, picking at her nails, voice soft and almost trembling. “It’s never been something I’ve wanted. I don’t want it. But I feel like I have to, y’know?”

“Well, you saw where adhering to expectation got me,” Jason deadpans, gesturing to the pure-white walls around them.

Ivy laughs in something like relief, her voice all bright and clear like bells in the quiet of the room. For once, Jason doesn’t wonder _what if_.

/ * \

“Do you blame anyone for pushing to you that point?” Jason’s therapist asks him, breaking the silence.

It takes him a moment, to think, to consider everything that had been clouding—haunting—him as he carried it all out. Losing Peter; Ivy’s pregnancy; Matt outing him; knowing G-d couldn’t forgive him; his parents; everyone’s lack of support; and, and, and…

“If you had asked me before I did it, I’d probably have an answer, but right now, I… I don't know. Maybe it’s just me. I don’t know.”

There’s an edge to her voice when she replies, immediate and harsh. “It is never your fault. And it never could have been. People only choose suicide when they’re desperate and have no other options, Jason, and you were under so much stress with all your obligations and everything falling apart around you—you would have had to have extraordinary strength to persevere through that. Nobody has strength like that, especially not on their own. I’m not saying suicide was your only choice, of course, just that I’m… not surprised. But you’re still here, and that’s a miracle.”

“I’m not sure that it is,” he returns, quiet.

“It is,” she insists. “It’ll take a while to be happy that you’re alive, I know. But it's the first step. Forgiving others is the second, then yourself the third. It might even take years, Jason, but I believe in you, no matter how long it takes.”

/ * \

Nadia visits Jason often, so often that Jason’s surprised it doesn’t bother him, and even more surprised that their parents haven’t realized what's going on. Matt comes around eventually, too, with his head down and with ever-twiddling thumbs. He lays his heart bare more than Jason ever expected from someone like him. About how it was a fucked up thing to do, how he had no right to do it, how he was just so frustrated with everything he felt Jason had taken from him that it all bubbled up and boiled over, about how he gets it if Jason never wants to see him ever again—and Jason just feels _tired_.

 _Tired_ is really the only way to describe it. He knows he’d usually feel anger blistering all through his veins like a prairie fire, that he had felt exactly that way when Matt outed him, but now, he can’t even work up the energy to feel a hint of that anger. It’s all over and done with, and anger isn’t going to change anything; besides, he was bound to wind up in this exact situation with or without Matt’s interference. He’d come to realize as much during conversations with his therapist, just how fragile and precarious his situation really was, how easily everything could have gone wrong—Matt was just how it happened to come about.

So Jason just closes his eyes, heaves a sigh, and tells him, “It’s fine, Matt. You couldn’t have known it’d come to this. But it’ll take time before I can…”

And Matt just nods, but there’s this glint of surprise in his eyes, like he’d expected anything but this. And because he’s Matt, he has to ask: “Have you seen… y’know… has he visited you?”

Jason turns onto his side, facing away from Matt and towards the window, watches the clouds scurry on along. “Just go, Matt, okay?”

And so he does; Jason wishes things could all be so simple.

/ * \

The next therapy session is harder.

“I just don’t know what’ll happen after I get discharged. My parents will never want me in their sight again, and without their support, I can’t go to college. It’s just like… all the careful plans I laid for the future are falling apart.”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Jason. It’s going to be difficult. It’s going to feel like nothing’s going your way at all, that it’s completely impossible. But I promise you there are ways to get through, and you will make it through,” she says, looking at him with a poignant look in her eyes, practically beseeching him. “You have countless friends, teachers, people who have connections and people that can take you under your wing, maybe even extended family that can give you a home. If not, I know where to look. There is _always_ a way.” 

Somehow, Jason finds himself almost believing her. There’s something of Nadia in her, and maybe that’s what makes him feel so partial towards her. “And there are ways to pay for college even without having money to your name. You were valedictorian, Jason. I can’t even begin to imagine the scholarships you could get if you hunker down and apply for all the ones you can find, on top of your grant money. I’m simplifying it, of course, but believe me when I say you always have options in whatever situation you’re facing, no matter what it is. You made it through being outed, didn’t you? And you thought that would always be the end of you. Yet here you are, about to rebuild yourself even stronger than you ever were before.”

/ * \

Jason’s discharge date is coming up, sooner rather than later, and in some ways, things have gotten easier. Like a bud growing from a tiny, little sapling, there’s something akin to hope sprouting within him, gentle and easily tarnished, but there nonetheless.

Nadia makes it easier, with her constant visits, with the way she knows just how to make Jason smile. Ivy, too, has come by every now and then, and they’ve managed to forge a higher connection, through it all, that brings Jason comfort: he’s not alone in feeling scared, lost, like the world’s turned on a dime against him.

Still, there’s one thing that hasn’t changed: Peter still hasn’t come to visit him. Nadia swears up and down that Peter still loves Jason—does he?—and that he’ll come when he’s ready, but there’s this nauseating fear that seeps through his veins like poison every time he thinks about it. Peter could’ve just gotten sick and tired of him, of how much of a coward he was, of how self-centered he was, right? It wouldn’t be surprising.

Jason can see flowers blooming out in the yard beneath his room, bellflowers reflecting the shade of the sky, growing in neat little patterns that had to have been intentional. Nadia has just left, her third visit that week, and had seemed strangely jubilant, maybe because of Jason’s release date coming up. She’d winked at him when she left, which… seemed out of place, leaving Jason muddled and confused.

He’s watching the way the clouds streak across the sky, the way the wind caresses the bellflowers and sweeps through them, when his door opens again. He thinks maybe Nadia’s forgotten something, at first, and then he turns back over and sees him. 

Jason almost physically recoils in surprise, has to blink a few times to really believe it. It’s _Peter_ , in the flesh, standing in his hospital room, fidgeting and mouthing words to himself like he always did when rehearsing his lines for the play that year. It’s a habit he picked up—before every scene, he’d run it through his head and subconsciously mouth all the lines to himself, even the ones that weren’t his. 

Everything Jason had been feeling returns full-force to the front of his consciousness. The guilt, the anxiety, the fear, but most prominently, the love—it’s one thing to love the memory of someone, and an entirely different thing to love someone standing right before oneself.

It filters through him, like the way a river flows, consistent and gentle; and, abruptly, Jason realizes just how much he loves Peter, how much he’d be willing to give up for him.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing Peter says, breaking the silence, voice tiny yet larger than anything Jason’s ever heard him before. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to come out. It’s—I have a hand in you being here, and I’m sorry. I—”

Jason’s reprieve breaks like glass shattering all across the floor. “ _Peter_. You can’t really think that. You’ve got to be kidding—”

“Of course I think that, Jason! I’m not—I’m not sorry for trying to move on. I have to take care of myself, too, but I’m sorry for pushing you when you weren’t ready. It just added to all your stresses, and maybe if I hadn’t done that, or maybe if I’d been a shoulder for you to lean on, maybe you wouldn’t have—” Peter’s fidgeting, hard, and Jason can’t tell if those are tears in his eyes or if the hospital lighting is playing tricks on his own eyes.

“Peter, Peter, just— _stop_ ,” Jason interrupts him, heaving a sigh. “It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault, it’s just—a bunch of things that happened all at once. You couldn’t have helped it.”

“Jason—”

“Look, Peter, even if it was your fault, I’d forgive you. I still love you, okay? I still think—I still think we’re soulmates. I wouldn’t hold your trying to do what’s best for yourself against you. You know I’m better than that.”

“Jason, I love you, too. But that’s not—your forgiveness doesn’t erase that I’m part of what pushed you to do this. Nothing’s going to change that you wouldn't have done this if I stayed with you, or if I just—”

“Peter, I said to stop. With the way I was living, this was inevitable. I was living all on borrowed time, and you know that.”

Peter’s face screws up in frustration, almost into a scowl, but then it relaxes as he lets out a hard exhale. “Fine. Fine, I’ll drop it. And I’ll try to… work past it, I guess. It’ll take a while. But I promise I’ll try, if that’s what you want.”

“That’s all I ask. I don’t want you suffering any more because of me.”

“Being with you was worth it,” Peter says, softly, enough so that Jason almost doesn’t catch it as Peter sits down in the visitor’s chair, staring down at his hands clasped together in his lap.

It’s silent for a few minutes before Jason speaks again. “So does that mean… y’know…?” He looks away from Peter, staring out the window.

“You know I can’t be with you if all you’re going to do is hide, Jason. I just can’t, not anymore—” Peter’s biting his nails, now, a bad habit he’s been fighting for years to break, one he _had_ broken almost without fail since sophomore year. Jason’s heart twinges a bit with hurt to think that this is upsetting Peter this much. “I know it’s hard for you. I—understand that now, more than ever. So I can understand if it’ll take some time, Jason, or if it’ll be a process. That’s fine. But I can’t go back to the way we were, hiding in the hallways, whispering in class, all of that. I just can’t.”

“I don’t _want_ to hide anymore, Peter. If this whole mess has taught me one thing, it’s that hiding doesn’t help anything. It all gets revealed in the end anyway.”

“Jason, you can’t—”

“I’m _serious_ , Peter, can’t you tell? All hiding did was make me lose you and make me end up here. And you mean the world to me—I don’t want to lose you again over something so stupid.”

“Jason, I don’t want to push you into this again. I don’t want you to feel like you have to—”

“Do you think the stress of it is going to push me over the edge again or something?” Jason can feel the harshness in his voice, but somehow, it feels needed. “Things have changed, Peter, okay? This whole thing proves hiding isn’t worth shit. I still ended up in this mess, even though we were _perfect_ , so what’s the point anymore? Everyone already knows, anyway, and my parents—”

“Okay,” Peter says, softly. “Okay. Fine. I don’t—I don’t want to fight with you anymore. If you want to try again, then—”

“Yeah,” Jason says, through the smile splitting his face in two. “It’ll take time for me to be open about, y’know, everything, but I’ll—try. I’m going to try my best.”

“That’s all I ask,” Peter says, hesitating a moment before covering the distance between them. He’s standing over Jason, the two of them just looking at one another. Jason feels his heart swell one, two, three sizes before Peter asks, “Can I?” so soft that Jason barely can hear him. Jason whispers _yes_ right back, and Peter leans down and kisses him.

It’s a chaste thing, like the kisses they shared as children, sweet and shy and barely-there. Jason closes his eyes, lets himself fall into the feeling, lets his heart skip a beat and then another as he realizes, feels with all his soul that Peter really does still love him, that they really do still have a future together.

Above all, Jason thinks as Peter pulls away and he watches the blush tint his face, the emotion cloud his eyes, it feels like a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> credit to my sweetheart [robin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferTM/pseuds/luciferTM) for betaing!
> 
> thank you very much for reading! please feel free to comment with concrit or otherwise—i appreciate it a ton!
> 
> i'm on twitter [@hhatsunetsu](https://twitter.com/hhatsunetsu) if you'd like to hmu!


End file.
